


Windows

by desirayparker20



Category: Marriage Story (2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - 1980s, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fluff, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-17 15:15:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29968311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/desirayparker20/pseuds/desirayparker20
Summary: Charlie Barber finds comfort and friendship in a kind acquaintance.
Relationships: Charlie Barber/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2





	Windows

**Author's Note:**

> Charlie Barber x Black Original Female Character

Strange. At least to him.

Every Thursday evening around 5:00 PM. That was his day, his time, his spot. Every Thursday evening, an hour before they closed. When New Yorkers rushed home to prepare for the second rush of the day--another job, a party, dinner. Whatever the case.

When Charlie Barber wasn't directing a play or going to dinners, he went to the library, grabbed a random book, and sat by a specific window--one that gave him a view of the city he loved. Thursdays became "the" day. One October evening, he went to his spot and found that it was occupied. He chewed on the inside of his mouth and forced a smile at the woman. She genuinely smiled back as he sat across from her and opened _This Side of Paradise_. His eyes traveled beyond his book and at the woman in his seat. 

Her hair was pulled back into a bun--her glasses almost as big as his. She wore a cerulean suit with black buttons, black stockings, and black pumps. Maya Angelou's _Just Give Me a Cool Drink of Water 'fore I Diiie_ rested between her fingers. Her eyes met his and he quickly looked back down at his book and read the first page. 

Strange. What's a gorgeous girl like her doing in a library on a Thursday evening?

* * *

**November (One Week Before Thanksgiving)**  
  
"Good evening," she mumbled. 

Charlie sat across from the woman--back against the city skyline, per usual. 

"Good evening." 

"A little warm today," she said. 

"It is, isn't it?" Charlie responded with a smile. 

The woman got a glance at her surroundings. "Do you mind if I sit beside you?"

"Not at all!" Charlie said. He cleared his throat in an attempt to conceal his high-pitched excitement. 

The woman walked over with her purse, her Maya Angelou book, and [the scent](https://www.myperfumesource.com/WCAFEPAGE.htm) of flowers, spices, and vanilla. It had been months since he breathed in the scent of a feminine woman. 

"My name is Priscilla," she said, holding out her hand. 

"Charlie." Charlie took her warm hand in his and shook it. 

"Nice to finally meet you, Charlie." 

They shared a chuckle. Charlie glanced at Priscilla's book.

"Good book?" he asked. 

"I'm enjoying it," she answered looking down at the cover. She looked at the novel in Charlie's hand. _The High Window_. 

"You seem to have a different book every week," Priscilla observed. "I never see you check them out."

Charlie raised an eyebrow and Priscilla grinned. 

"I mean, I've noticed a few times," she said nervously. 

"I've noticed that you never check that one out," Charlie said back.

Priscilla glanced at her book again. "I'm terrible about returning books. I figured that the best way to remember to return a book to the library is to just never check it out."

Both of Charlie's eyebrows rose and he couldn't help but stifle a laugh and nod. "I suppose that makes sense."

"It really does to _me_ ," Priscilla beamed. She looked down to hide her smile, then back at Charlie's face. She noticed that his large lenses hid tired-looking dark eyes.

"Are you ready for Thanksgiving?" she asked.

Suddenly, Charlie's face went soft and sorrowful. "I don't have any plans for it."

"No family?" Priscilla asked softly. Sympathetically. 

"Not in New York," he replied. This time, his eyes fell on his book's cover. 

"It's the same for me. My only family right now is my roommate."

"Are you...are you divorced?" Charlie asked. He immediately regretted the question.

"I'm sorry. I don't know why I asked that," he said with a nervous chuckle.

Priscilla shook her head. "No, it's fine. I've actually never been married. No kids, either."

"Ah," Charlie nodded. He bit the inside of his lip--contemplating how much of his life he wanted to divulge. 

"Are you? Divorced?" she asked. 

"Yeah," he answered. "It's been a few years."

"Kids?"

"Yeah. _A_ kid."

Priscilla noted the sadness in Charlie's face. She forced a smile and tapped the novel in his hands with her knuckle. "You never answered my question."

Charlie adjusted his glasses and straightened his spine. "It's just some weird shit that I started. Come to the library. Read a book for about an hour or so. Put it back."

"Interesting..."

"I used to sit over there," Charlie said, pointing across from them. "Until you came along." He pressed his lips together and revealed the deep creases in his cheeks--showing her that he was joking with her.

Priscilla's eyes widened and she placed her hand to her chest. "I took your seat? Was that your own special seat?"

"It actually was," Charlie responded, the boyish grin still on his face.

"Oh, I only sat there because I wanted to look at the--"

"Skyline," they both said. Priscilla flashed that perfect smile once more.

"Yeah," she said. "Well, I guess now there's no reason why both of us can't face the city. I'd say we're practically acquaintances now."

"I think so," Charlie said. 

Priscilla grabbed her purse again and walked the few steps back to the opposite side of the sitting space. She sat beside what was once Charlie's special chair, leaving it open for him. He rose from his seat, sat down beside her, and breathed a silent sigh of relief as he took in the sight of his city. 

**Author's Note:**

> I have no clue where this is going. It's just that those House of Gucci photos have been dropping and I needed to write 80s Charlie lol. I don't plan to turn this into a super long multi-chaptered thing. Just a little something sweet, or whatever.


End file.
